Kurai Himitsu Ukaresawagu
by fanficismylife
Summary: Kurai learned young that life is cruel and he can't count on anyone but himself. But when a strange man knocks on his door one stormy night, his whole life is about to change . . . great crossover fic, please R&R!
1. A Stormy Night

This is just an idea I had swimming around for awhile . . . it's a crossover fic that mostly has my own characters and stuff . . . so enjoy! I've got the whole long story all figured out just waiting to be written, so don't be afraid that I'll leave you wanting. This one's gonna be great!

Disclaimer:

These characters and everything don't all belong to me, like Kenshin, etc. so I'm just saying that right now! But the stuff that is mine (my characters, my plot, stuff like that) please don't steal! Thanx! ;)

Chapter 1: A Stranger in the Night

Kurai stepped into the sunlight and squinted his indigo eyes. He shielded them from the harsh sunlight with his hand and wondered if this day would be better than the rest. He doubted it. Closing the door, he began walking toward the center of town.

School always sucked for Kurai. He hated every time he had to walk into the classroom and watch everyone go quiet and look the other way. He was used to it, of course, because he always came in late. It was a trade, he figured: come early and be there longer with these people who hated him like they had the plague that killed half the village and his whole family, or show up late and make a scene as he walked in. The second was invariably his choice.

The walk to school wasn't really long, only a mile or so, but it felt like forever to Kurai. The worst part was always passing the houses full of people he could remember being friends of his family. He passed them now – the Takanos, the Hondas, the Ototanis. He remembered playing with Ototani Shigeo when he was younger, before the plague. They were such good friends then. They were together so much that the people of the village started calling them the inseparable twins. And then the plague came and Shigeo never came to play again.

Some said it was the worst plague anyone could remember even hearing about, the worst thing even their ancestors could imagine. If you even went near someone with the plague, you were a dead man already. No one who entered an infected house lived another day. Except Kurai.

It was like a mysterious wind – it came without warning and left silently in the night. There was no time for warning to spread before it had many in its grasp. The first in Kurai's family was his youngest sister, Hanako. It quickly spread to his other siblings and mother, and he could remember sitting in their small house watching them die. He remembered bitterly the pale, gaunt figures of his family laying on the floor. He brought them water, he fed them broth, but they refused to improve, and one by one, they died. He remembered taking their bodies to be burnt with the rest of the dead from the plague – remembered standing before the fire, the smell of burning flesh filling his nostrils and making him choke, feeling the heat engulf him, wash over him, and it made him feel both alive and dead.

He lived in a daze, only doing things because they seemed familiar. It took him two days before he started making food for himself and nearly a week before he stopped making enough food for everyone to eat. He stayed at home for a long time, he couldn't remember how long, and he slowly began to accept and understand his new reality. He lived alone in that house full of memories of a family that was gone and would never return.

He didn't realize until the whispers began in the village that it was strange that he didn't die with his family. People avoided him in the streets and wouldn't let him talk to their children. He heard them call him a demon for surviving the unsurvivable. At first he didn't understand, but over time he came to resent what they said and then grew to hate these people who were so close but had betrayed him. He began to blame them for his loneliness, his grief, his pain.

But he always blamed his father most of all. He remembered how he had left them when Kurai was only four. There had been no warning, no reason, and his mother had cried for months. Kurai knew it made little sense, but he couldn't help but blame him for everything bad that had happened, especially their deaths. He hated that man he had grown to love as a child only to see him leave. He could never forgive him for the pain he had put the family through, the hardships and trials they suffered because he was not there. He swore to himself years ago that he would hunt that man down and kill him for what he had done.

Kurai reached the school and opened the door, pulling himself out of his reverie. He quickly entered the room and walked down the row to his seat in the back. He had sat in the middle or front before, but now no one wanted to be near him. He didn't care about that; he didn't want to be near them either. He considered leaving school many times but never could bring himself to do it. He knew his only chance of any happiness in life was to learn enough to leave this village and start everything over again.

So he studied hard as he always did, learning as much as he could. He was always top of his class in studies but had learned over the years not to expect recognition. He didn't care whether anyone else cared or not. He didn't need anyone.

He was glad to see the school day end shortly after noon. He gathered his things together and prepared to head back to his home, thinking about the chores that needed to be done once he was there. He sighed at the work he had to do. If only school started later he could do his work at home earlier in the day, but as it was he could not. He would have to wait until evening before he could tend his garden, since the midday heat would be bad for freshly watered plants. He often wished he could do something to make money and buy his food instead of growing it, but everyone refused to trade with him.

As he left the building and began towards home, he noticed a group of boys his age standing near him. They whispered something and laughed, seemingly enjoying themselves. Kurai looked at the tallest one, Shigeo, and sighed. He knew his friend never meant to be cruel, exactly, but he had been. Even after all these years he hadn't ever spoken a word to him. His group of friends tried to bully Kurai a few times when he was younger, but Shigeo had always been the one to talk them out of it before things got out of hand. Even still, he wasn't around all the time, so Kurai had learned how to defend himself.

It had been a difficult task, finding someone who would help him learn, and at first he had no idea who to turn to for help. He knew no one in the village would help him, and that really only left one person – the old man who lived on the other side of the village and into the forest. No one ever went to his house or even near it because there were rumors that he had once been a skilled killer, someone with a bad past, someone with an angry temper. No one was even sure of his name. Everyone was afraid of him, some even thinking that perhaps he had powers that helped him do so much when he was younger.

So Kurai had gone to him for help. He had been afraid that this man would kill him, but he didn't really care. He had lost so much he was sure there was nothing left that was worth living for except revenge on his father, and for that he would need to know how to fight anyway. But when he arrived at the man's door he discovered that some things were true and others lies – the old man's name was Kondo Tadashi and he had killed in his youth, perhaps a lot, and he was very skilled with a sword. But he was a good man, willing to help. They became, in a way, unlikely friends. And Kurai learned how to defend himself.

Kondo-san would not teach him to fight with a sword. He felt strongly that Kurai should only know what he needed to defend himself. When Kurai told him why he needed to learn more, so he could revenge his family, the old man had told him that more death could only bring more suffering. Kurai disagreed, but he did not complain. He knew someday he would be able to get Kondo-san to teach him.

Kurai was brought back to the present as raindrops began falling all around him, more and more frequently, and he quickened his pace. He wanted to return home and build a fire before it grew too cold and he was too wet. As he reached his house he built a small fire and set on a small pot of water to heat up, dicing some small plants into it. When that was finished he settled himself into a low chair, tired from a day where he had done little physical labor. He was always tired, it seemed. He didn't care to do anything more than he needed to to live, and right now, there was nothing he could do. He hoped it would rain long enough he wouldn't need to tend his garden. Watering would be done and weeds could always wait for tomorrow.

He began mending an old shirt that had belonged to his older brother, Akio. He had torn it yesterday while chopping wood for his fire and couldn't afford not to keep and wear it until it fell apart completely. When he needed new clothing the only thing to be done was to use something that had belonged to another in his family. He had taken apart all of his smaller siblings' clothing and made them into things that fit him. So far he had not gone through everything and he wasn't sure what he would do when he did. He figured he would have to find something he could make and then take it to a village a ways away to sell it and buy cloth or clothing. Kurai was glad he hadn't had to do that yet.

As the evening progressed the rain only worsened, pouring down with angry purpose. Kurai ate his dinner and went to bed, dreading tomorrow. He knew it would be a day just like every other, and that was nothing to look forward to.

Rough pounding on the door awoke him. He groggily sat up in his bed, wondering if he was hearing things right, and it came again, this time more insistent than before. No one had knocked on that door for years and the sound was odd and strange to him, though distantly familiar, and he went to open it. He grabbed a stick he kept near the door and unlatched it, peering out into the rain and darkness.

A crouched over man stood before him, obviously tall but tired from a long journey. He seemed hungry, tattered, and homeless, and Kurai almost felt compassion on the man, but suspicion overrode it. "What do you want?" he questioned harshly, narrowing his eyes.

The man looked up at him for a moment and then spoke. "I suppose I can't expect you to remember me. It was so long ago; you were so young then. May I speak with your mother?"

Kurai reeled at the memories that came to him with that word. His breath quickened and he struggled not to let his emotions show to this stranger. "She is dead. All of my family save me died in the plague. Why do you ask for her?"

The man staggered at hearing this. "No," he whispered. "No, this can't be true. I came so quickly, I tried so hard." He leaned on the door, all his strength seeming to have left him. He seemed lost in inward thought and grief.

Kurai stared at him, wondering why a man who felt such acute sorrow had never bothered to come before. "Who are you?" he whispered.

The man looked up, tears mixed with the rain on his face. "Oh, Kurai," he said shaking his head. "It's been so many years. I'm Nakamura Toru. I don't expect you to recognize me, Kurai, but I'm your father."

Kurai reeled as this information seeped in. Now that Toru had said it, the resemblance was obvious. This man looked like the vague memories Kurai had of his father from when he was so young. His mind seethed with confusion and anger. He closed the door a little farther. "You are not welcome here!" he spat. "How dare you return after all these years! You are lucky I don't kill you now!"

"Please, Kurai!" Toru said. "I know how this seems to you. I know what you think I've done, but please, let me at least explain myself. Just let me explain, please, and then I will go if that's what you want, you can kill me if that's what you desire. Just hear me first."

Kurai eyed Toru with anger built up over the twelve years since he had left. His first instinct was to trust nothing this man said, to turn him away or kill him on the spot. But as he opened his mouth to command him to go, he saw the grief on this man's face. He saw him as a weak man who had lost everything and now was looking only for understanding and a place to stay. No, not just that, he realized. Toru was looking for his family. For Kurai. He softened a bit. "Alright," he said, "you can tell me your story. But I'm keeping you to your word. Don't expect me to open my door to you with glad arms after all these years."

"Of course," Koru said, smiling a grim smile. Kurai opened the door farther. As Toru walked in he shook his head. "There is so much you deserve to know."

Okay, so that's it for chapter 1! I hope you're excited for more! PLEASE R&R (read and review for anyone who doesn't know ;) Chapter 2 should be up in the next week!


	2. A Story Long Untold

Here's the second part . . . Sorry I cut it off in the middle. I'm too tired to finish it.

Toru sat by the small fire and looked around this hauntingly familiar house. So many memories waited here for him. So much pain, so much loss. He could only imagine how much he had missed. He looked over at Kurai and sighed. This boy deserved more explanation than he knew how to give. Kurai sat on a short stool near the fire, stirring a pot of lean soup. The vegetables looked to be weak and small, and Toru's heart went out to this boy who had grown so alone, so poor and alone. Kurai looked so tired, aged beyond his years, and Toru had no one to blame for this but himself.

He took a sip of the tea Kurai had served him. It was hot but thin, leaving him wanting more but glad to have the warmth. He wasn't sure how to begin. It was such a hard story to tell. He glanced back up at this son he barely knew and saw that this time he was looking back at him with a face of blank expectation. He was so hardened.

"There's so much to tell you," Toru began. He sighed again. "I ask you to be patient with me. This is a story I haven't ever told anyone and I don't have the fluidity that comes with frequent remembrance. I may forget things or put things in the wrong places. Please don't hesitate to ask for clarification, "he looked into Kurai's expectant eyes, "because I want you – need you – to understand."

He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and then began. "This story begins far before you were born, even before I met your mother. I wasn't a great deal older than you, only nineteen or twenty years old. I thought I was so smart then. I thought I was on top of the world, and in many ways, I was. I had great opportunity in my life to go and become what I wished, to do something great with my life. And that was my goal, to do something great.

"I wanted to help people. I wanted to make a change for better in the world. I decided that a life spent on trivial, selfish pursuits was a waste for all involved. There were so many people that needed help and I wanted to be someone who could maybe make a difference for good in their lives." Toru shook his head. "I was so idealistic then. Such a dreamer.

"There is a group you have heard of, that you know of well. They were a strong and large power years ago and have gained even more prominence and influence in the years since this story began. Their influence touches every part of society. They are praised and acclaimed by many, lauded near and far for their works as they have been for many, many years. You have, of course, already guessed who I speak of. The Kubura.

"Though their influence in a village as small as this one is not great, I know you must have met members of this affiliation at least a few times, and it is likely that you feel very well toward them as most do. Do I speak true?"

Kurai shrugged. "I suppose. I haven't seen much of them, especially since the aftermath of the plague calmed down, but they seemed to be good enough." He paused in reflection, thinking to himself as he stirred the soup a little more and then brought a steaming spoonful to his mouth, gently blowing on it. He took a sip and nodded to himself, adding more of a spice Toru didn't recognize. Kurai continued to speak. "They always wanted to help people and things, but they never really did a whole lot, now that I think of it. Not often, anyway. They came in after the plague and helped rebuild the economy, I remember that, but for smaller things they always act like they want to help and then don't really follow through very well. But that's obviously because they have more important things to be doing. I mean, they practically run all of Japan."

Toru nodded. "Yes, this is their way. They touch people just enough to convince them of their goodwill and then cease to help, excusing themselves with other matters. But you must excuse me for speaking this way. I have not yet given you any reason to see my words as truth and until such verification is given I will hold no more sway than a fragile bamboo shoot in the midst of a terrible storm. I shall thus continue my tale.

"I chose to join with this group, the Kubura, so that I might do good with them. I saw that their reach was far and their grip firm, and I knew that I would have greater opportunity there than anywhere else. I chose to become a gojou-morohanotsurugi, or one who fights with both sides of the sword for the five great Confucianist virtues – justice, politeness, wisdom, fidelity and benevolence. It meant giving everything you had, all of yourself, for defending against the evils man inflicts upon himself and others. Sometimes the job of the gojou-morohanotsurugi was simply to help a widow carry her burdens, other times it was to fight an underground band of thieves or smugglers, not being afraid to literally be the blade with two edges that give death.

"I went and trained with the Kubura for several years. I had not had much experience with a blade before joining them, as I was a peaceful man who had no need to find fault with his neighbor, so I had much to learn. However, with diligent and excruciating study I soon became quite adept at the art of the sword.

"When they decided I was ready to go and be what I had dreamed, I felt excited and ready for the challenge. I was like the great dragon, ready to go and meet my foe without fear of defeat, knowing that my cause was just and my eye steady. I felt that my destiny was close and within the reach of my outstretched fingertips. With this view I left my training place and ventured out on my own, roaming the countryside and the cities, looking for opportunity to improve life.

"For the first few years that is exactly what I did. I had trained hard and was thus very good and never lost a fight or even gained great injury. I helped the sick and the poor and dealt justice to the slothful and wicked. My life felt full as a pool in the midst of a hidden vale, beautiful and delicate with strong purpose and vigor, untouchable and brimming with strength. I was so happy. I was a young man who had reached for a dream and grasped it firmly by the tail, riding it through the stars and wonders of the skies. Life was exceedingly good to me.

"I progressed in rank over the years as I grew better at my trade, more adept at my skill. Soon I found myself among the best, surprised and proud that I found myself their equal. I thought that surely my life could do nothing but grow in strength of goodness and purpose. I soon discovered the error of this way of thinking.

"I found that the higher I grew in the path of this great good the less good I seemed to do. My skills were used for a different purpose, and yet for the same – I was told that the things I did were for the greater good of the people, and I believed like a young and innocent duckling. I had no reason not to. The Kubura were never anything but good to me and to everyone, and it was explained to me that some losses were necessary for the greatest good to roll forth. I found this a difficult concept to accept, but over time I grew to see it as truth.

"What things am I speaking of, you wonder? At first only small things. I was told that the smallest things, like helping a child retrieve a lost toy, were of no great consequence. I was a trained warrior and could be using my skills in more efficient and effective ways. They taught me gradually that sway is learned by the sword, not the outstretched hand, and taught me to see the world accordingly. I was told to still help in small ways from time to time, because the need did not disappear as my services were needed elsewhere, but to keep these times sparse, for they explained that the younger, newer gojou-morohanotsurugi were not yet masters of the blade as I was and thus were more fit for those tasks. I saw the logic in this, that it rang soundly as a well forged bell, and slowly I conducted my life by this standard more and more until I was what they had prepared me to be – a killer with a good cause, a righteous slayer of evil.

"They warped my view of right and wrong, making me see good as bad and bad as just. I was taught to secretly punish those whose only offense was disagreement with the Kubura. The Kubura, you see, stood for truth and fought for great Confucianist values, thus it was deemed blasphemy to speak ill of it.

"I lived my life in this way for many years, growing harder and colder inside until the spark of good and life that had begun my quest so many years before was all but dead, unnourished and neglected until it withered and threatened to leave entirely. I had grown so high in the organization that I began to see the corruption and greed that led to the assignation of these things I did and I did not care. I no longer held ideals in my heart or reached for stars of possibility and hope. As I was rewarded for my service to the Kubura my greed increased and became insatiable as a caterpillar in a towering tree. I could not get my fill. Positions and rewards were all that mattered to me anymore. My heart grew cold.

"I lived in this despicable life for many years, socializing with the top of the order, until an assignment came that changed my ways, that broke me of my blindness. I will tell you of it now.

"I was sent to destroy the family of a poor man who had worked at the mines near Fukuoka and had turned into a revolutionary. He called for strikes and workers rights and raised a great deal of agitation among his fellow workers. These mines, of course, belonged to a subsidiary of the Kubura. He was put out from his job and disgraced, and yet he continued to fight and cause problems for the Kubura. He went to other working people in different areas looking for support and telling his story of "wrongful oppression," looking for handouts and people to join him, both of which he found. The next thing done was the firing of his supporters. They thought that if he saw the effects of his deeds perhaps he would come to sense and quit his proclamations.

"But it did not. Indeed, it seemed to fuel his flame for persecuting the Kubura and he pressed forward with more vigor and conviction than before. As for his followers, he lost only a few, not at all a substantial amount. Secret bribes were of no avail. Several close affiliates were assassinated. Still he persisted. There seemed no way to stop him.

"I was at this point assigned to destroy his family. I was set to the task and saw no wrong in it, seeing it as merely another job, another way to climb my way farther into my life of prestige and comfort. I set about achieving this goal with a grim determination offset by a certain boredom. I knew the job was a gruesome one yet posed no challenge or threat. Killing women and children was never difficult.

"As I arrived at the house I wasted no time in ascertaining if all the family was present, and they were, along with another child, presumably a neighbor, but it was of no consequence. Killing the extra child would just show the ruthlessness of the victor. I knew this job would be one of the easiest I had ever done."


End file.
